


Hamilton Won't Abandon Ship (Or, an Ode to Madison's Smoldering Obsidian Eyes)

by IvyOnTheHolodeck



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Characters Writing Fanfiction, F/M, Humor, M/M, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyOnTheHolodeck/pseuds/IvyOnTheHolodeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late into the night, long after the city of New York had retreated inside to the comfortable glow of tablets and televisions, Alexander Hamilton hunches over his desk, grinning madly as he pens a new Jefferson-Madison fanfic. He hasn't yet decided how Jefferson will react when he finally confronts Don Madison, the enigmatic crime boss he's been hunting (and trading increasingly flirtatious insults with) for the past nine months, face to face, but Alex is determined to make the scene suitably humiliating. Perhaps Jefferson will swoon at the sight of his handsome enemy like the Southern belle he was; perhaps he will spill champagne all over that hideous coat -</p><p>“Alexander.”</p><p>Alex’s hand jerks as he jumps, surprised, causing an accidental keyboard-smash. He grumbles curses as he backspaces, wishing for the shake-to-undo function of his iPhone. Not that he undoes much, but still.</p><p>“Alexander, it’s two in the morning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamilton Won't Abandon Ship (Or, an Ode to Madison's Smoldering Obsidian Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my brother for writing the first draft with me! Love ya! :)

Late into the night, long after the city of New York had retreated inside to the comfortable glow of tablets and televisions, Alexander Hamilton hunches over his desk, grinning madly as he pens a new Jefferson-Madison fanfic. He hasn't yet decided how Jefferson will react when he finally confronts Don Madison, the enigmatic crime boss he's been hunting (and trading increasingly flirtatious insults with) for the past nine months, but Alex is determined to make the scene suitably humiliating. Perhaps Jefferson will swoon at the sight of his handsome enemy like the Southern belle he is; perhaps he will spill champagne all over that hideous coat -

“Alexander.”

Alex’s hand jerks as he jumps, surprised, causing an accidental keyboard-smash. He grumbles curses as he backspaces, wishing for the shake-to-undo function of his iPhone. Not that he undoes much, but still.

“Alexander, it’s two in the morning.”

“And?” he asks without turning around. Damn, she is good at creeping up on him.

Eliza sighs. “And you’ve got a cabinet meeting tomorrow. Come back to bed.”

Alexander Hamilton is the Secretary of the Treasury of the United States of America. Hence, he has just a shade too much dignity to whine about his bedtime. “’Liza, sweetie, I can’t just leave hanging Madison's sculpted masculine jawline and smoldering obsidian eyes. It would be sacrilege.”

Eliza raises an eyebrow. “Smoldering obsidian eyes? Have you been ogling senators again?”

“Why would I do such a thing, when I have a gorgeous wife by my side?” Alexander is suddenly very, very grateful that he’d crammed the latest copy of _People_ magazine behind his coffee maker. Eliza actually sleeps enough not to need caffeine, so his glossy candids of America’s Hottest Politicians are safe from his wife’s disapproving gaze. “Besides, I wouldn’t use the word ogling, dear. I’d prefer to think of it as ‘aesthetic appreciation’.”

“Mm.” Eliza doesn't sound impressed. “As long as you keep your appreciation strictly visual.” She leans forward threateningly, her expression barely twitching from the smile she’s trying to hide. “If I find another disrobed congressman in our bed, _I will burn you_.”

“’Liza! That was _one_ time, and Aaron apologized!-”

“Aaron apologized, and his girlfriend threatened to kill you. That’s not exactly what I’d call a successful encounter.” Eliza pats him on the head. “I’m going back to sleep. You can join me when you’re done fangirling. Just don’t - don’t get any death threats before morning, okay?” She exits his study as quietly as she’d entered, a vision of long-suffering patience in a blue dressing gown.

“You don't actually have evidence of those death threats!” Alex hollers after her. “Theo and I were alone - no one else was in the room where it happened!” The door stays firmly shut, ignoring him. Alex exhales, rocking back in his chair. Personally, he thought Theodosia's solution to her, ah, murderous rage was impressively effective - she'd written an alternate version of the Battle of Monmouth in which Alexander Hamilton is taken prisoner and enthusiastically eviscerated.

Alex grins. Theodosia's bloodlust had, rather literally, scared Aaron straight. And if the story had inspired a wave of Alexander-in-chains fanart, all the better.

But he’s getting off-topic. He's left poor, hapless Jefferson stranded at the doorstep of his greatest challenge. Biting his lip, Alex positions his fingers above the keyboard and types:

 

_Thomas straightened his velvet collar - purple, of course, to highlight his kingly cheekbones - and pounded his fist against the iron door. His heart fluttered like a fledgling preparing for its first flight -_

 

No, not quite. Alex bites his lip, hits the ‘delete’ key a few times, and corrects:

 

_His heart fluttered like a butterfly newly emerged from its shadowed cocoon. Was this it, then? Would Thomas finally meet the man behind the mask, the owner of that dusky voice that warmed his chest and wound its way into his dreams?_

_He raised his barely-trembling chin as the door swung open with an unsightly moan -_

 

His monitor dings, alerting him to a new email. Briefly distracted, Alex opens the email and growls. Write of the devil -

Normally, Alexander appreciates all fanfics gifted to him, but he suspects he won’t like “Washington At Your Side” any more than he liked its predecessor, “Daddy’s Calling.” Frankly, Alex finds it astonishing that the president hasn’t fired Jefferson for writing him into their fanfic war, but maybe Washington doesn’t use ‘the Google’ often enough to notice.

That does it. Jefferson and Don Madison’s love story has just been upgraded from ‘Teen and Up’ to ‘Explicit.’ Alexander grits his teeth and writes.

 

_...“You cannot escape,” purred the Don, leaning over Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas suppressed the shudder - fear or arousal - that ran down his spine, resisting the urge to answer, what makes you think I’d want to?..._

 

_...“Defend yourself!” Madison cried, tossing him a sabre that flashed like a glittering carp against the flaming ruins of the stronghold. Thomas lunged for the blade, fingers grasping, but tripped over a cobblestone and landed face-first in a pile of horse dung. Distantly, he could hear Madison laughing…_

 

_...Police Commander Lafayette gazed at him sorrowfully, his liquid eyes eloquent in their betrayal. “Run, mon cher. For the friendship we have cultivated, for the years you fought by my side, run! Run, and mon dieu, never let me see your face again.” His oldest ally turned, as if ashamed to look upon Thomas’ bedraggled form and limp curls. “Run!”_

_Thomas ran…_

 

_…“I gotta say,” Thomas confided in Madison, his stomach lurching with every pitch of the ship, “when I imagined lying next to you in bondage, neither of us were in the belly of a slave ship.”_

_Madison laughed, the sound warm like dark honey, and then coughed. Thomas frowned as the man coughed again, and again…_

 

_...Thomas staggered on his wounded leg, Madison limp and terribly light across his shoulder. Thunder crashed overhead as the sky was torn in twain by vicious bolts of electricity. Alone, he would have given up and collapsed on the rain-whipped soil, uncaring of his imminent demise._

_But he had Madison._

_“C’mon, babe, just a little farther,” Thomas whispered. The once-mighty crime boss nodded faintly, and Thomas swallowed, praying they wouldn’t be too late…_

 

_...the archer fired, and time slowed down. Thomas watched in surprise, almost amusement, as the arrowhead swam towards his chest. So this was it, then._

_Then Madison threw himself in front of the arrow._

_He fell to the ground with a thud, and time sped up again. He wasn’t moving. Someone was screaming, and after a moment Thomas became aware that he himself was the screamer…_

 

_...almost lost you, Madison,” Thomas whispered, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. He buried his face in the blanket on his love’s hospital bed, the white sheets growing darker with a salty wet stain._

_Madison huffed out a quiet breath. “After all this, Jefferson? Call me James.” When Thomas glanced up, Madison’s - James’ - eyes were full of a heat that slowly warmed and awakened him in a way no other could. He gulped. James’ smile was catlike. “Do you think we’re likely to be disturbed in here?”_

_Trembling, Thomas shook his head no…_

 

_…[redacted sexual content]..._

 

_…[redacted sexual content]..._

 

_…[redacted sexual content]..._

 

_…“Virginia, my home sweet home, I want to give you a kiss,” Thomas sighed as he stepped off the gangplank back onto his native soil._

_James nudged him in the side. “That all?”_

_“Well, give you a kiss and help consolidate your debt with the rest of the nation,” Thomas admitted. “That Hamilton man - he’s a right genius. The epitome of intelligence. Rather handsome, too. I was an idiot not to realize that his financial plan was inherently superior, just like everything else about him.”_

_James chuckled. “I meant, is Virginia the only one you want to kiss?”_

_“Oh.” Thomas could feel his face heating as Madison reached out and…_

 

_…[redacted sexual content]..._

 

_…[redacted sexual content]..._

 

_...forever? You and me, helping that utterly brilliant genius Hamilton make American credit competitive and abolish slavery?” Thomas asked, hardly able to believe it._

_James, his James, wrapped an arm around his hip. “Forever. A crime boss keeps his word.”_

_And in that moment, Thomas wouldn’t have traded his life for all the ugly purple coats in the world._

 

Alex flexes his fingers, only slightly surprised to find them incredibly stiff. Sometime around four that morning, he had started writing Jefferson much more sympathetically, but he's too tired to care. Birds are chirping outside his window as he copies his story into AO3 and presses ‘Post.’ God, his eyes sting.

 

~

 

“James, Washington’s ‘bout to open the floor for the debate over French aid! Put your phone away.” Jefferson narrows his eyes at Hamilton across the table, wondering what trickery his nemesis is up to. The man is supporting his face with his hand, but his elbow is slipping off the table, and when Jefferson had approached him with an arsenal of cutting insults that morning, Hamilton had just yawned at him.

“Hush, you’re about to pull me bodily from the burning wreckage of my ‘palace of iniquity,’” Madison scolds.

Jefferson blinks, then peers over his shoulder at the screen Madison’s hiding under the table. “How many-”

“220k.”

“And he wrote it last night?” Jefferson demands.

“Seems like.”

“Damn.” Thomas whistles under his breath. “He might be a royalist bastard, but the man’s got energy.”

The 'smoldering and broodingly controlled thaumaturge,' as Hamilton called him in the last fanfic to hit the Internet, chuckles and lightly runs his fingers down Jefferson’s arm, leaving tingling lines of energy in his wake. Thomas straightens and swallows. “He’s also got a certain...creativity,” Madison murmurs, shooting the Secretary of State a sidelong glance promising all sorts of things he shouldn’t be thinking about during a cabinet meeting. “Some of his ideas might be worth a try.”

“I’d be up for that.” He lets just the corner of his mouth tick up in a grin. For a political idiot, Hamilton’s got surprising matchmaking acumen. The man may die of humiliation if he ever learns that his fanfiction is what pushed Jefferson and Madison together.

“It’s a date,” Madison says.

Jefferson allows the other corner of his mouth curl into a smirk, already planning the ‘Washington, Hamilton, Eliza, and the morning copy of the New York Post get caught in a compromising position’ story he’ll be crafting this afternoon as revenge against Hamilton for this newest slander against himself and Mr. Madison.

Although, to be fair, the knowledge that his writing is helping Jefferson get laid would probably be revenge enough. 

Then Hamilton starts declaiming from his seat on the other side of Washington, and the game is on.


End file.
